


Pillow Talk Drabbles

by Jade_II



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5534771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_II/pseuds/Jade_II
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A life in pillow talk, from Luna University through to The Husbands of River Song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk Drabbles

#1

 

The Doctor lifts a hand and tenderly tucks a curl behind River’s ear. She looks up at him and smiles hesitantly; this River is very young and very broken and he wonders if she knows how easily he can tell.

 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” she asks suddenly, proving his point.

 

The Doctor shifts on the bed, pulling the blankets up over her before he answers. “You’ve studied my history,” he says. “What do you think?”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” she counters quickly, eyes bright even as the rest of her lays languidly on the bed, her fingers reaching out to poke gently at his chest. “What do _you_ think is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

 

“Why do you want to know?”

 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

 

She has a point – the Doctor nods.

 

River is still looking at him expectantly.

 

He rolls onto his back, hoping that if he breaks eye contact she’ll relent, but of course she doesn’t.

 

“Well?” she demands.

 

“I can’t choose just _one_ thing, River, I’ve got a millennium’s worth of regrets…”

 

“I didn’t ask what you regretted. I asked what was the worst thing you’d ever done.”

 

She deserves an answer, he knows.

 

“I destroyed Gallifrey,” he says shortly, sighing. “My own planet, my entire race, I killed them all.”

 

“And why was that worse than anything else?”

 

He risks a glance at her and finds her watching him attentively, but no judgement is in her eyes.

 

That’s one of the things he both loves and hates about her.

 

But it’s what engenders him to be honest. More honest that he normally is even with himself.

 

“It’s the only thing,” he says slowly, “that I had to become someone else to do.”

 

“What do you mean?” she asks immediately. Of course she does.

 

He sighs again, committed now without quite knowing how it’s happened. “The Sisterhood of Karn,” he begins. “They have certain… knowledge, about regeneration. They helped me to become… not me.”

 

River knits her brows. It’s adorable and he wants to lean over and kiss her right on the cutest wrinkle, but he knows she would bat him away right now. “Which regeneration was this?” she asks. “The northern one?”

 

Swallowing, he shakes his head.

 

Her eyes widen. “You mean the one with those gorgeous flowing locks?”

 

“No.” He meets her eyes. “There was another one. Between the two.”

 

“Really?” She looks impressed – he doesn’t want her to look impressed, this is not impressive. “The church never knew about him.” She quirks an eyebrow. “Him?”

 

“Him,” the Doctor confirms. “They wouldn’t have. I went by a different name.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I thought it would help. It didn’t, not really. It was just a stupid psychological trick I tried to play on myself, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t me. But I _was_.”

 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” River says, as if he’s being ridiculous. Why does he love her so much when she does that? “I was me, when I tried to kill you. I’m still me. But I’m a different me, now. And so are you.” She pauses. “You told me that.”

 

The Doctor smiles despite himself – he hasn’t done that. Not yet.

 

And he’s a raging hypocrite because he’s completely unable to heed his own words.

 

But River believes them. That’s enough.

 

 

* * *

 

#2

He loves the way she giggles when she’s young.

He loves the way she giggles when she’s older too of course, but when she’s young … her giggles have a kind of innocence to them. An innocence she would swear right now never to have possessed or even wanted, but, “Say that again when you’re older,” he says. Older River has the necessary distance to realise that this River he is lying next to is so very innocent in so many ways, despite her already complicated history.

She raises her eyebrows at him, her face still flushed with mirth. “I’m sure I will. I’m hardly likely to become more innocent, am I?”

“Oh, you’re going to become more everything,” the Doctor teases. He tickles her gently under her chin and she squirms, slapping his hand away with a laugh.

“More brilliant?” she asks, grinning.

“Absolutely,” he affirms.

“More sexy,” she declares, fluttering her lashes.

“Definitely.”

She hesitates for a fraction of a second before continuing, “More in love with you?”

His gaze softens and he shuffles closer, reaching out to cup her cheek. “Oh, I hope so,” he tells her, and presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

River grins against his mouth. “Tell me more about me,” she demands - and she doesn’t yet quite know that he can read her like a book, that he knows she needs to make up for that moment of vulnerability with something outrageous now.

“Can’t,” he replies with a shrug, making it easy for her. “Spoilers.”

“Rubbish,” she declares. “Go on.”

“I can’t!” he says. “By telling you I could risk changing you. And trust me, I don’t want to do that.”

“That’s cute,” she says, deadpan. “And you think I’m the difficult one?”

“Whoever said you were difficult?” he asks incredulously.

She’s about to reply, he can tell, but she snaps her mouth shut, and her eyes regain their sparkle. “Spoilers.” She says it like a challenge.

The Doctor makes a face. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

River looks smug now, and shrugs. “Spoilers.”

“I’m such an idiot,” he mutters to himself, rolling away from her to stare at the ceiling.

An older River would have snorted and agreed with him; this one says nothing. It’s kind of sweet.

“You’re going to have a lot of fun with that word,” he says eventually. “When I’m younger you’re going to drive me batty with it.”

All of a sudden River is looking down at him, propping herself up on her elbows and smirking in speculation. “That does sound like fun .”

“Yeah, for you,” he complains.

“Aren’t I allowed to have any fun?” she asks airily.

“Course you are. I like it when you’re having fun . In case you hadn’t noticed, I even quite like it when you’re driving me batty.”

River’s grin turns predatory. “Do you now?”

She giggles.

He loves the way she giggles when she’s young.

 

* * *

 

#3

 

He doesn’t know if it’ll be the last time he’ll see her.

 

He’ll never know for sure. All he knows is that their meetings are few and far between now and that she’s almost always painfully young. It shouldn’t be painful for him to see her with her whole life still ahead of her like this – but it _is_. He can’t help it.

 

Because he thinks he’s seen it all already.

 

He strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers, running them gently over her soft skin so as not to wake her… but he does anyway. River is a very light sleeper at this age, and she’s awake instantly with her hand reaching under the pillow for a gun that isn’t there.

 

It’s when her hand grasps thin air that she comes properly awake, her gaze shooting to the pile of clothes by the bed wherein, somewhere, her small arsenal lies buried. It’s not until she’s worked out the exact location of each and every item that her muscles relax and she looks at him, sleepy and rumpled and adorable.

 

“Doctor,” she mumbles, allowing herself to fall back onto the bed with a sigh.

 

“Yes,” he says. He can’t help reaching out to touch her again, twisting one of her curls around his finger. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“S’alright,” she mutters, letting her eyes close again.

 

“It’s just—“ he starts, then stops himself.

 

“Just what?” She squints up at him.

 

“Nothing.” He sighs. “Spoilers.”

 

“Doctor.” Her eyes are open again now, more alert. “Is something upsetting you?”

 

If she were older, he reflects, she wouldn’t have to ask. River always knows – turns out that’s not quite true. Once upon a time she had to learn him, after all.

 

He musters a smile. “Nothing for you to worry about, dear. Go back to sleep.”

 

“Sweetie.” She doesn’t call him that so much when she’s younger, has yet to claim it as her own, definitive word for him, but it makes him smile. “Tell me.”

 

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Nothing in particular. Just the trials of getting older.”

 

She looks at him sceptically, taking that for the non-answer that it is – good girl. “Such as?”

 

He can’t tell her. Can he? He kisses her instead.

 

River responds instantly, wrapping an arm around him to pull them closer together. The Doctor smiles – this is something that never changes. River has always been enthusiastic about kissing.

 

She hums happily into his mouth and he pulls her closer still, until every possible inch of her skin is pressed up against his own.

 

River breaks the kiss and rests her forehead on his. “Tell me,” she says again.

 

He has to. What the hell, he decides. How else is this frighteningly young woman ever going to learn to read his mind? She hasn’t even married him yet.

 

Besides, it may be his last chance.

 

“I’m losing you,” he says simply. “We’re all back to front, you and I, River. You’re very young – yes, you are – and I’m very old, and it keeps getting worse. And one day it’s going to be the last time I see you, and I don’t even think I’m going to know when it is until it’s long past.”

 

River looks at him and for once he can’t read her face, though he can see her processing what he’s said. Finally she cocks her head and says, “So it’s like most relationships then? Any human being can just get hit by a bus one day, you know. And no one ever expects it. No one ever knows how long they’ve got.”

 

The Doctor blinks. “But I—I mean you—“

 

She cuts him off by laughing at him and then kissing him again, and somehow he can’t help but laugh and kiss her back.

 

It helps a little, later, when he realises that he really isn’t going to see her again this time.

 

* * *

 

#4

 

“River,” the Doctor complains. “Come back to bed.”

 

River snorts, nudging him with her foot but not taking her eyes off the gigantic textbook she’s studying. “I’m right here.”

 

“No you’re not. You’re somewhere old and boring digging up relics.”

 

Though she is very cute, sitting cross-legged on the bed with the book in her lap and her hair in her face.

 

And still very naked. Honestly, he wonders how she can concentrate.

 

She rolls her eyes but otherwise ignores him, licking her fingertip to turn a page. The Doctor huffs, throwing himself dramatically onto his back. “What’s the point in having you here if you’re going to have your nose in a book? I wanted to show you the obelisk on Tarstan IV at Christmas – they put lights on it, you know.”

 

“You said,” River reminds him, taking the stylus from behind her ear to make a note in the margin, “don’t worry River, you can study in the TARDIS, I won’t get in your way.” She puts the stylus back and shakes her head. “I knew that was a lie. Rule one.”

 

“It wasn’t a lie, I just—“

 

She finally looks at him, but her gaze is so withering he almost wishes she hadn’t, especially when she counters accusingly, “The Doctor lies.”

 

He harrumphs.

 

“I’m sure there are any number of things you could be doing,” she continues. “I’m a big girl, I’ll be alright on my own.”

 

“But I’ll be lonely,” he grumbles.

 

“I’m sure you’ll make friends.”

 

The Doctor makes a face. River continues on serenely, getting her stylus out again and tapping it against her lips as she thinks.

 

He’s so proud of her. And she’s so beautiful. And he should really leave her alone so that she can concentrate, but any time she spends alone is time not spent with _him_ and he’s very selfish and wants her for himself always. The fact that he knows he won’t get that luxury only makes it worse.

 

So he stares quietly.

 

Her toenails are painted a sparkly TARDIS blue – for him, he wonders? He always likes to think that she dresses for him, though he knows full well how much fun she has dressing up for any occasion whether she expects to see him or not. She wriggles her toes absently – does she know she’s doing that? - and then flexes them like a ballet dancer preparing for point work, or perhaps more likely a karate master preparing for a kick.

 

Her legs folded over her feet remind him of origami, perfectly positioned for maximum aesthetic benefit to show off her smooth, tanned skin. The book resting on top of them somehow only enhances the impression of something sculpted, too perfect to possibly be real.

 

There should be a sculpture of her, he decides suddenly. Why isn’t there one already? Maybe there is and he just hasn’t seen it yet.

 

The Doctor bolts upright and leaves the room.

 

A moment later he comes back for his clothes. River smirks at him, pausing in her note taking to ask, “Found something to do, have you?”

 

“Yes!” He grins. “A magnificent project!”

 

…Or not. He returns to the bedroom several hours later, scowling, and throws himself back on the bed.

 

“Well?” River says. She still won’t look at him, even though she’s almost reached the back of the book now.

 

“Everything is rubbish,” he declares.

 

“What happened to your magnificent project?” She’s playing with her stylus again, tapping it against the fingers on her other hand.

 

“It would have been magnificent,” he insists. “If I had any talent as a sculptor.”

 

“What were you trying to sculpt?” River asks, looking up.

 

The Doctor sighs. “What do you think?”

 

River shrugs nonchalantly and turns back several pages in her book. She’s not even interested, he realises with dismay. He was trying to create an ode to her in marble, and she doesn’t even care.

 

“Look what I found,” she says, putting the book on the bed with a thump.

 

He almost sneers – she’s trying to distract him with archaeology, of all things, does she not know him at all? – but he’s not quite that cruel. He rolls onto his front and props himself up on his elbows, deigning to look.

 

In between the dense lines of text the pages are illustrated with photographs of archaeological finds. Mostly pots and coins and other little trinkets, but there is one larger item, a sculpture—

 

He sits up abruptly as he realises what he’s looking at.

 

“I did it!” he says, suddenly awestruck, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the perfect lines on the page, the marble woman bent over a book, the voluminous curls of her hair almost but not quite obscuring the curve of her breast, the picture of studious beauty. “Look, River, I did it!”

 

Cackling now – why is she cackling? – River reaches over and underlines a phrase in the caption which accompanies the photograph.

 

_Artist known only as R.S._

 

The Doctor’s eyes widen. “You sculpted yourself?” he exclaims, jealous.

 

“I know.” River grins. “Looks fun, I can’t wait. I wonder how I do it?”

 

He wonders, too. “Can I watch?” he says after a moment.

 

“If you can sit still.”

 

“I can sit still.”

 

“I very much doubt that.” She cackles again and pulls the book back into her lap, sticking her stylus behind her ear again and leafing through the pages.

 

The Doctor is determined to sit still while she works, now, just to prove his point.

 

He manages for all of seven minutes.

 

He fidgets and River looks at him, eyes darting like lightning to his treacherous limbs.

 

“I’m sitting still,” he lies.

 

River laughs, having far too much fun at his expense, and slams the book shut. “I knew you couldn’t do it.”

 

“…Fine.” He deflates. “I can’t do it.”

 

He waves his hands in annoyance until, putting the book aside, she moves closer and grasps them in hers.

 

“Maybe you need some practice,” she whispers, and kicks the book off the bed.

 

* * *

 

#5

 

They can hear Rory snoring through the wall.

 

“I hate you,” River mutters.

 

The Doctor studies her silhouette, sat up in bed with her arms crossed and murder on her face. “No you don’t,” he says, with perhaps a little less conviction than usual.

 

“‘Let’s visit your parents,’ you said. ‘It’ll be fun!’, you said.”

 

“It was fun!” he protests.

 

“‘It’s Christmas!’ you said, ‘let’s land on the roof!’, you said!”

 

“I didn’t _know_ we were going to slide off and fall on the snowman!”

 

“You didn’t know that the TARDIS was going to be so annoyed with you that she’d lock us out,” River says scathingly.

 

“I’m sure she just needs some time to—“

 

“And now we’re stuck here in my parents’ spare bedroom with my father snoring the house down next door and you wearing his spare pyjamas!”

 

The Doctor looks around the room. There’s nothing wrong with it as far as he can see. It’s a bit plain, yes, and the duvet cover has got pink flowers on it which are much more Amy’s style than River’s, but he can’t see any possible reason for River’s animosity towards it. And he _likes_ the pyjamas. “I thought it was very nice of them to offer us a bed for the night,” he ventures.

 

“That is not the issue,” she seethes.

 

“Well what is the issue?” the Doctor asks, a bit exasperated.

 

River turns on him, throwing up her hands. “Where do I start?”

 

Someone thumps on the wall from the room next door and Amy’s muffled voice shouts, “Go to sleep, for God’s sake!”

 

River narrows her eyes and the Doctor quickly takes her hand in his to avoid her wrath being redirected to her mother. That wouldn’t be very Christmassy. “Tell me,” he whispers.

 

She’s still not looking too happy, but she sighs and manages, through gritted teeth, “I had other plans for tonight.”

 

That takes him aback. “With who?!” he demands, completely forgetting to be quiet.

 

“Shut up!” says Amy’s voice, accompanied by several more thumps on the wall. And it’s woken Rory, apparently, because it’s followed by a burst of undecipherable but definitely masculine talking.

 

River is not paying any attention at all – she’s just staring at him, looking unimpressed. “With you, you idiot.”

 

“But…” he frowns. “But we always visit your parents for Christmas! I mean for their Christmasses at least, obviously we might get a couple more here and there…”

 

“Doctor, this is the first time I’ve ever spent Christmas with my parents. Last year you took me to see the obelisk on Tarstan IV, and the year before that it was the ice volcanoes on Setarisk. So frankly I expected something similar this year, and this…” she gestures helplessly, clearly comparing the Ponds’ house with the ice volcanoes and finding it lacking, “…this is just… not. I thought we’d at least be able to escape after dinner!”

 

“But your parents…” the Doctor begins, feeling his forehead wrinkle.

 

“I love my parents,” she declares loyally. “But then there’s the other matter of the present I got you.”

 

His forehead wrinkles deepen of their own accord. “You got me a bumper pack of jammy dodgers. They were very nice.”

 

Rolling her eyes as though he’s really dense – and maybe he is, he’s really not sure right now – River says pointedly, “There’s another present. A private present. Definitely not for use in my parents’ bloody spare bedroom.”

 

His eyes widen. “Is this about sex?” he says incredulously.

 

“Yes!” she says. “And hush!”

 

“Well why didn’t you say so?” the Doctor demands, already loosening his bowtie.

 

“We can’t have sex here!” River whispers, clearly horrified.

 

“Why not? We have before.”

 

Now it’s her turn for the wide eyes. “We have?”

 

“’Course we have.” He grins at her. “Just very, very quietly.”

 

“Really?” Suddenly she’s interested, looking at him hungrily.

 

“Yes,” he affirms again, reaching out to unbutton the nightie she’s borrowed from Amy. “It’s generally your idea, you know. Why on earth would you think that we couldn’t? You’re not normally shy.”

 

She’s grinning at him and breathless now, and it surprises him when she confesses, suddenly vulnerable, “I suppose I’m still trying to work out my relationship to them. It’s all very weird, now that they know who I am.”

 

“You’ll get used to it,” he assures her, pushing the nightie down over her shoulders and pulling her close for a kiss. River moans into his mouth and he chuckles; “Quiet,” he reminds her.

 

River laughs, swinging a leg over his.

 

Amy bangs on the wall again and she laughs louder.

 

“And you can give me the present next Christmas,” the Doctor whispers.

 

“Can next Christmas be tomorrow?” River demands, lowering her voice to match his.

 

“That,” he says, “is an excellent idea.”

 

* * *

 

#6

 

“When are we for you, anyway?” he says when he’s caught his breath. River greeted him so enthusiastically earlier that he hasn’t had a chance to ask.

 

River is lying on her front next to him, limbs splayed every which way. “I get my doctorate tomorrow,” she says smugly.

 

He’s glad the lights are dimmed because he can’t quite stop the horrified look that flashes across his face before he gets it under control; thankfully she’s too pleased with herself to notice. “And you?” she asks.

 

“Manhattan,” he says, grateful that at least these two meetings are hundreds of years apart for her.

 

“Doesn’t sound very exotic,” she remarks lazily.

 

“No,” he agrees. “No, exotic is… the wrong word for it.”

 

“Where to today, then?” River asks, though she shows no sign of being ready to go anywhere just yet.

 

“Where do you fancy?” the Doctor asks, doing his best to pull himself together. He wants to give her the best time he possibly can, tonight.

 

Her eyes widen and he realises that that isn’t his usual answer to that question. Sometimes he’ll ask her where to, of course, but generally speaking if she asks he’ll be leaping for the TARDIS’ controls before she’s finished speaking, eager to share with her one of the thousands of magnificent things she hasn’t seen yet.

 

“Can we see the Singing Towers of Darillium?” she asks.

 

The Doctor swallows – is today not painful enough already? “No,” he says decisively. When she looks disappointed he adds, “One day, dear, but not today. Spoilers.”

 

She’s a bit disgruntled, he can tell, but she tries again. “I’ve always wanted to meet Leo Tolstoy.”

 

“Tolstoy, really? Interesting man. Old or young?”

 

“Both.” She grins.

 

“We can do both.”

 

“Can we do both and then go and see the lava sculptures on New Venus?”

 

“What d’you want to see those for?”

 

“They look impressive. And,” she says offhandedly, “Nobody knows who made them, or when. They were the only signs of civilisation on the planet before it was colonised.”

 

Oh, but she knows him so well already. “Probably a freak of nature. Or some alien civilisation dropped them there.” He’d meant to sound unimpressed, but then even as he speaks he’s pulled in. “Ooh, or space pirates, hiding their treasure and never coming back, or—“

 

“Can we go then?” she interrupts, amused.

 

“Yes, let’s do that!”

 

He’s already half out of bed when she says, “Or there are the ruins on Grabdar III. The mad king waged war on his own daughter and the battle lasted a hundred years, until he developed a weapon so powerful he accidentally killed the whole population. They say you can still see his bones standing upright where he pulled the trigger.”

 

He turns, and the enthusiasm on her face is infectious. “We’ll do that too then. Before or after?”

 

“Before the lava sculptures, after Tolstoy,” River says decisively, and now she’s standing up too, throwing a dress over her head. “And then there’s a nice little Italian around the corner for dinner, okay?”

 

“Yes,” he says, grinning at her. “Yeah, we can do all those things.”

 

She flashes him a dazzling smile and disappears down the corridor, and the Doctor hesitates, all his joy instantly gone with her so that all he’s left with are his ever-present grief and his guilt.

 

He’s trying to compensate, he knows, for what happens to her tomorrow.

 

Unfortunately he knows equally well that nothing ever can.

 

* * *

 

#7

 

The Doctor actually sleeps after Calderon Beta, that’s how much River exhausts him. Not that he minds. But clearly he hasn’t exhausted her quite as much, because when he wakes up she’s sitting up in bed next to him.

 

He hopes it’s just because she’s younger than he is. Normally she’s the one snoring away when he’s wide awake already.

 

The Doctor stretches the sleep from his limbs and River looks down at him, beaming. She’s so radiant that he briefly considers trying to find a way to freeze this moment and preserve it for all eternity, but his brain hasn’t quite woken up enough for that yet.

 

“Good morning sweetie.”

 

“Morning.” His eyelids are sticky and itchy and he rubs them distractedly. “What are you doing?”

 

A familiar blue book is waved in front of his eyes before being returned to River’s lap. “Recording last night for posterity.”

 

The Doctor squints. “What?”

 

“You did say it was a diary.” She shrugs, tapping a pen against her lips for a moment before bending over the book again.

 

“Yes, but…” Grimacing, he shifts closer to her and heaves himself up to look over her shoulder – and finds himself jolting wide awake very quickly. “River!” He can feel himself blushing. “You can’t put that in there!”

 

“Why not?” she demands, not pausing in her scribbling.

 

“What if someone reads that one day?!”

 

“Then they’ll be rather jealous, I should imagine.” She tilts her head, and then the book as well. “Though I suppose they could use it as a step by step guide.”

 

“River!” he complains again, too helpless to say anything else.

 

His new wife chuckles and pats him on the head. “Don’t worry sweetie. I’m painting you in the best possible light.”

 

“I can see that, that is not what I’m worried about!”

 

What if she records all their sexual encounters in this amount of detail?! What if her diary is actually full of… of _pornography_? He’ll have to ask her next time he sees her older self—no, no, he can’t ask her that, can he? She’ll probably laugh at him and not answer, or say yes even if the answer is no just to watch him squirm, that would be just like her…

 

The younger version is nodding sympathetically, though that’s the only sympathy she’s even trying to display. “I suppose I could add some diagrams…”

 

“River!”

 

He should never have married her this young. She’s insane this young, and it’s not like he didn’t know that…

 

“In the footnotes at least.”

 

“ _River!_ ”

 

She’s actually trying to give him a heart attack, that’s what it is. Some vestige of her conditioning is asserting itself and she probably doesn’t even know it, but if she keeps on like this he’s pretty sure he’s going to die of embarrassment and indignity in two and a half minutes, tops.

 

“Of course we could take some posed photographs…”

 

“Posed pho—“ he splutters. This is it, this is the end, he’s going to die. He thinks he can already feel one of his hearts giving out.

 

And River is laughing her head off.

 

“Oh sweetie, you’re so sweet.”

 

The Doctor scowls. “You’re making fun of me.”

 

“Maybe a little bit,” she admits, smirking. “You’re just too adorable.”

 

“I am not adorable,” he protests.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she declares airily, setting the diary aside.

 

He breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“What next?” River asks, turning back to face him and giving him her full attention.

The Doctor answers by pulling her close and kissing her, and he can tell from the pleased noises she makes that this is the right response.

But still, next time he gets the chance he is bloody well taking a peek in that diary of hers, spoilers or no.

Just to make sure.

* * *

 

#8

 

“I wonder if the guards saw all that,” River says breathlessly.

 

“Probably.” He’s almost falling off her narrow bed, but she doesn’t seem to mind at all when he shuffles closer to her. “I’m sure they’ve got it all on tape.”

 

River’s eyes widen. “Really,” she says, sounding a lot more turned on than upset by this news.

 

So he won’t tell her that he’s going to erase all the recordings before he leaves. That he _always_ erases the recordings before he leaves. He’s made that mistake before.

 

“I wonder what they’ll do with them?” she says naughtily.

 

And this is _why_ the Doctor is going to erase the recordings before he leaves.

 

“I know what I’d do with them,” River continues speculatively.

 

Honestly, he never wants to find out.

 

“Oh, but what would I do _first_?”

 

Well, okay. Maybe he wants to find out just a little bit. Without any practical demonstrations, mind.

 

He’s about to ask her to elaborate, only a tiny little bit against his better judgement, when she sits up, almost knocking him off the bed, and pulls her dress back over her head. “Where are the cameras, though?” she mutters to herself, standing up on the lumpy mattress – he doesn’t remember it being this lumpy in the future. Perhaps he’s going to get her a better one for Christmas.

 

“What?” he says belatedly, sitting up as well.

 

“I’m looking for the cameras,” River repeats patiently, unscrewing the panel above the bed—

 

“Hey, where’d you get my screwdriver from?” the Doctor demands, slightly put out. She never does ask before pilfering his things.

 

“From your pocket, sweetie,” she replies matter-of-factly.

 

“My pockets are bigger on the inside, it should have taken you days to find that!” he complains.

 

“I’ve got a knack.” Something clicks and the panel in the ceiling comes loose. “Aha.”

 

There is indeed a tiny camera behind it. River removes it carefully and sinks back down next to him, examining it.

 

The Doctor watches her for a moment. “Let’s take a look—“

 

“Hush.” She holds up a hand and he does as he’s told, only mildly offended. She’s River, after all. Generally it’s best to hush when she commands it.

 

Screwdriver in hand, she holds it up to the little display behind the lens. “If I reverse the polarity,” she says as she works, “I can access all video taken up to this point. Go back past the last hour or so…” She winks at him here, and he tries to find it reassuring, “…and put the previous three days on a loop. Wonder how long it’ll take them to notice?” Grinning, River leaps back up, replaces the camera with a flourish, and looks around the room. “Right, where are the others?”

 

“What’s that over there?” the Doctor supplies, pointing at another panel in the far wall.

 

River jumps off the bed and bounds across the room.

 

And the Doctor scowls.

 

He’s pretty sure he’s erased an accumulated fifteen thousand and three hours of video footage in his time. All for nothing, it would appear.

 

Fifteen thousand and three bloody trips to the guard station, complete with clever subterfuge and evasion of said guards ninety-seven-point-two percent of the time, absolutely wasted.

 

He’s sorely tempted to go back and tell his younger self not to bother; he should have known River would have it well in hand.

 

Somewhat reluctantly, he is forced to smile.

 

Damn, but she’s good.

 

* * *

 

#9

 

Somebody elbows the Doctor in the face and he wakes with a start, his hand immediately flying to his nose, which is very suddenly very painful, not to mention bleeding profusely.

 

“Ow, River!” he complains, sitting up and looking for something to soak up the blood.

 

He forgets about that instantly when he sees her face.

 

She’s still asleep, he could tell that straight away even if her eyes weren’t closed because she would never let anyone see such an expression on her face if she were awake.

 

She’s terrified.

 

And obviously fighting whatever demons she’s facing, good girl, at least there’s that.

 

“River,” he whispers, hesitant to touch her – she’s already injured him enough as it is, and he knows she’ll feel bad about that when she wakes up. She doesn’t react, so he raises his voice. “River!”

 

Lashing out with her foot, she hits him again, getting him in the arm, and then turns to do battle with some other invisible enemy.

 

The Doctor bounds out of bed to escape her flailing limbs and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror of River’s dresser. The middle of his face is a big fat red _mess_. He’s got to fix that before she wakes up; no point in making her even more upset than she will be already.

 

He sneaks across the room to the en suite – River’s idea, the en suite, one of her many good ideas though he’s not _quite_ sure about the term _en suite_ , it sounds less like a bathroom and more like a sweet shop. He wonders if En Sweet would be a good name for a sweet shop or if the association with bathrooms would put people off – perhaps he’ll open his own sweet shop one day to find out…

 

The brighter light in here paints an even less pretty portrait of his injury, and he wonders briefly if she’s actually broken his nose – it wouldn’t be the first time – but after a thorough examination he concludes that it’s just a nasty bruise.

 

He’s stopped bleeding as well, though it has already managed to run down his chin and onto his chest. He runs a flannel under the tap and sets to work cleaning it off, wincing now and then and wondering what to do about whatever’s dripped onto the bed, she’s bound to notice…

 

And in fact when he returns to the bedroom she’s sitting up and contemplating the stain on his pillow with a haunted look in her eyes.

 

She glances up at him as he approaches, the frown on her face making his hearts ache.

 

“You look like someone punched you in the face,” she remarks.

 

He only hesitates for a fraction of a second; the matter-of-factness of her reaction at least means he’s succeeded in not appearing too damaged. “Elbowed, actually,” he admits, taking the pillow gently from her grasp and sliding into bed beside her. “Impressive aim for someone who was unconscious, but no harm done.”

 

“You don’t look like no harm’s been done to you, sweetie,” River says sceptically.

 

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Not your fault.”

 

She doesn’t believe him, he can tell.

 

“Tell me about it,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his.

 

“About what?”

 

“About your dream. Go on.”

 

River pales. “I can’t.”

 

“’Course you can,” he reassures her.

 

“It’s silly.”

 

“It was pretty serious for my nose,” he teases gently.

 

River tenses and looks away. “Sorry.”

 

Teasing is perhaps a bad strategy, then. Perhaps it only works when she’s older. “I told you, it’s not your fault.”

 

“That’s not reassuring, Doctor,” she counters fiercely. “It means I wasn’t in control.”

 

River’s nightmares are always about not being in control.

 

“Tell me,” he repeats softly.

 

She closes her eyes and sighs, and he can tell she’s steeling herself.

 

He waits patiently.

 

“It was that bloody space suit,” she says at last. “We were having a picnic with my parents and it rose up out of the lake and it took me. And someone else was holding me down for it so I couldn’t move, and…” She exhales angrily, shaking her head. “They always get me. I never win. You always die.”

 

“But you did win,” he points out. “And I’m not dead.”

 

“I _know_ ,” River insists. “Sometimes I just don’t believe it.”

 

The Doctor has always hated the Silence for what they did to his wife.

 

Some days though, when things are good, he can almost forget about it.

 

Today is not one of those days, and he holds her perhaps a bit too tightly as she stubbornly refuses to cry.

 

* * *

 

#10

 

“Doctor.”

 

Her voice is all muffled. His stupid left ear is all blocked up and he can’t even hear his wife’s wonderful voice properly. Not to mention the fact that his eyes seem to be glued shut with the most disgusting substance ever to come out of his tear ducts.

 

Still. “I’m fine,” he lies.

 

“You are _not_ fine. The Raxacoricofallapatorian flu is nothing to be sneezed at.”

 

The Doctor sneezes, and giggles hysterically until he’s interrupted by a coughing fit.

 

“You did that on purpose,” River chides.

 

“It was funny,” he gasps.

 

He can tell she’s younger, because she chuckles and nods instead of rolling her eyes. “Okay, it was,” she admits, eyes twinkling.

 

“How come you’re not ill?” he demands. “You were right there on Raxacoricofallapatorius with me, why didn’t you get it?”

 

“Because _I_ got my flu jab, sweetie. There are some perks to being in an interplanetary prison. And it’s a good job too, _somebody_ needs to look after you.”

 

“Oh,” he says, disappointed. “I was hoping it was because you’d already had it and I’d nursed you back to health. I was looking forward to that, it sounds romantic.”

 

“Trust me, it is _not_ romantic.” River sighs, and he feels her arm snake around his back. “Sit up, you need to drink something.”

 

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not enjoying it,” he protests. “I can look after myself, you know.”

 

“No, you can’t,” River says patiently.

 

“I could if I wanted to!”

 

River huffs. “Alright, go on then.” She lets go of him before she’s quite propped him up properly, and he sinks into an awkward half-sitting position amongst the pillows. “Fetch yourself a glass of water,” she commands.

 

“Fine,” he declares, mumbling into the pillow by his face. “I will.”

 

He feels her weight shift on the bed and pictures her crossing her arms and watching him expectantly, with one eyebrow arched and a pre-emptive smirk on her face. He bets that’s exactly what she looks like right now.

 

His legs are a bit shaky as he moves them towards the edge of the bed, but that’s okay, he can take his time. Actually sitting up is a bit more tricky, but he manages it and after a minute or two he even stops feeling dizzy.

 

The Doctor pictures the door to the en-suite in his mind. It’s only a few feet away, straight ahead of him – he should be able to manage it.

 

Very, very carefully, he gets to his feet. He wobbles a bit – okay, quite a lot – but he stays upright. Lifting his foot as little as possible, he takes a step. And then another.

 

“Ha!” he says to himself, getting into his stride. He thinks he hears River snort behind him, but he ignores it.

 

And he hits his face on the doorframe and promptly collapses right in the doorway to the bathroom.

 

He’s not completely sure that he hasn’t passed out for a moment, but when he comes to his senses there are strong arms lifting him over strong shoulders and he’s transported back to the bed, where he is dumped with very little ceremony.

 

“Hey,” he protests weakly. “I was almost there. If you had _helped_ me…”

 

“You said you could take care of yourself,” River reminds him.

 

“…Oh.”

 

“I’m going to get you some soup, sweetie.”

 

“…Okay.”

 

“Here, drink this while I’m gone.” She presses a cold glass into his hand and he automatically raises it to his lips, only to poke himself in the nose with the straw she’s apparently put in it.

 

“Oi,” he complains, but either River’s gone already or she’s not answering.

 

The Doctor sips his water with his special straw and she returns with the soup after a minute or an hour or so, he’s not quite sure, and then she sits with him on the bed and feeds it to him.

 

Actually, he decides, he’s quite happy with this arrangement.

 

* * *

 

#11

 

“That was… a really good distraction,” the Doctor breathes, once he can breathe again without having to think about it. Honestly, the things this woman _does_ to him.

 

The woman in question chuckles with delight and hooks a leg over his possessively, pulling the covers up over herself and snuggling closer to him.

 

He loves it when she’s snuggly.

 

But she _knows_ that, he reminds himself. The last forty-five minutes have been full of things she knows he loves, and that has been completely intentional and she is _not_ getting away with it that easily.

 

“This doesn’t make it better, you know,” he says. He can’t quite muster the will to move yet, but he’ll get there.

 

“’Course it does, sweetie.”

 

The Doctor sighs. “River.”

 

She shrugs, her shoulder digging into his arm.

 

“ _River,_ ” he repeats.

 

He can tell she’s rolling her eyes even though he can’t see them. Harrumphing, River sighs dramatically and inches away enough for him to see her face, which is trying to look unimpressed but, if you know her very well and you look very carefully, is just a tiny bit scared.

 

The Doctor exhales, shaking his head. “River,” he says again, more gently. “Why do you do that?”

 

“Do what?” she says, though she knows damned well what.

 

“Put yourself in harm’s way like that!”

 

“You mean like you do?” she counters.

 

“I don’t do it like that, River. Not on purpose. Not when there’s no need for it. I don’t provoke the bloody Judoon just for a laugh, for goodness’ sake! They almost killed you!”

 

“I think the key word there is ‘almost’, sweetie.”

 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

 

“You’re picking on me.”

 

“I’m worried for your safety!”

 

“Well _don’t_ be!” she commands, and he’s surprised at how savage her voice is suddenly. “I don’t need you to protect me, Doctor, even from myself!”

 

“River…” he says again, gentler still. “I never said you did.”

 

“Then why are we having this conversation?” she mutters, turning away from him.

 

“Because you’re my _wife_ and I care about you. That’s all it is, dear.”

 

His view of her is mostly hair right now, but he sees some of the tension leave her shoulder as she sighs again, less aggressively this time. She stays silent though, no witty banter forthcoming to lighten the moment.

 

When she still hasn’t spoken a few moments later the Doctor shuffles closer again and wraps an arm around her, grasping both of her small hands in his.

 

“I don’t know,” she says then.

 

“You don’t know what?” he asks softly.

 

“Why I do it. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just habit – I didn’t use to care very much whether I lived or died. I would do crazy things just to see if I could get away with them. And I always did, so the next time it would have to be something even crazier.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you care?”

 

“You know why, Doctor. My whole existence had one purpose. I knew that once I’d succeeded they would kill me. You can’t have a weapon like me running around without a target.”

 

“And yet here you are.”

 

“Here I am,” she agrees slowly. “I’m just still not sure what I’m here _for_.”

 

“That’s really up to you.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder, and she turns and finally meets his eyes again.

 

She’s still scared, he can tell. But there’s more steel in her eyes than fear.

 

“Maybe I need to think about that.”

 

* * *

 

#12

 

“No,” the Doctor says firmly.

 

“Why not?” River complains, trying to sound seductive at the same time – and succeeding, damn her.

 

“Do I need to count your cuts and bruises?” he says pointedly, his gaze drawn to her bare shoulder, where a particularly nasty gash stretches from her collarbone to her left bicep. Honestly, it’s a miracle she’s alive.

 

“Will you count them with your tongue?” she says, stretching her limbs and writhing suggestively on the sheets next to him.

 

“ _No_ ,” he insists. He’s even wearing his pyjamas, because he knows exactly how unsexy she thinks they are and frankly he needs all the help he can get when it comes to resisting River Song. “You need rest,” he declares.

 

“Ah, but you know when I get the best rest?” River counters, arching an eyebrow. “I rest really well when you’ve just given me a good hard f—“

 

“River!” He throws his hands up and sighs with exasperation. “No.”

 

She rolls her eyes, turning away from him to glare up at the ceiling. “Spoilsport.”

 

The Doctor sighs again. “Go to sleep, River.”

 

For a moment she’s silent, but then she ventures, softly, “Count them then.”

 

“River, I told you, I’m not—“

 

“No,” she cuts him off, her tone suddenly a lot more sober. “I mean, just count them. I’m curious.”

 

He frowns at her, wondering for a moment if this isn’t some trick she’s trying to play to get him to touch her, but the look in her eyes tells him it’s not. “Okay,” he agrees, sitting up. “If you like.”

 

River closes her eyes and kicks her legs free from the tangle of blankets at the foot of the bed, settling back into the pillows. The Doctor studies her skin, swallowing; there are too many cuts and bruises by far, whatever the actual number.

 

If only he had caught her sooner.

 

“Stop brooding, Doctor,” River admonishes, eyes still closed. “Just count them.”

 

He frowns but obeys, reaching out to take one of her feet in his hands. “One,” he begins, noting the too-deep cut in her heel, the one that had made it difficult for her to walk. If she had been anyone else she would probably have found it impossible, but not River – she gritted her teeth and soldiered on, like she always does.

 

He loves that and he hates it.

 

“Two,” he continues, for the bruise on her ankle.

 

“Three,” for the one above her toes.

 

He keeps going, up one leg and down the other and returning to the blue and red mark that reaches from her hipbone to her ribcage, and she doesn’t move or speak or give him any inkling of what she is thinking.

 

“Twenty-four,” he whispers, tracing one finger ever so gently beside the bruise.

 

What he is thinking is this:

 

He didn’t catch her in time.

 

He always catches her in time. He’s got a time machine, for God’s sake.

 

Only it wasn’t a straightforward fall – she’d leapt off a motorbike and through a narrow crevice, knowing that the monsters wouldn’t follow, and she’d trusted him to rescue her. Except there was nowhere wide enough to park the TARDIS until two hundred and thirteen metres farther down, and she’d been bounced from side to side on the way like she was the ball in a bloody pinball machine. It’s just lucky she was still wearing a helmet, he doesn’t even want to _think_ about what might have happened if—

 

“Hush, sweetie,” says River’s voice as he counts the gash on her shoulder; thirty-seven.

 

“I didn’t say anything,” he protests.

 

“I can hear your thoughts through your fingers.”

 

“…Oh.” He sits back, frowning.

 

“Go on,” she says, rolling over to show him the mess that is her back. He has to try hard not to flinch.

 

“Thirty-eight,” he whispers, not daring to touch her any more. “Thirty-nine.”

 

He’s already worked out sixteen different ways he could have prevented this, and he’s pretty sure he’ll crack the seventeenth soon, but none of it matters now – it’s too late. He can’t go back and change something like this; there’s nothing that can be done, or undone.

 

“Forty-nine,” he continues, contemplating a bruise on her tailbone that he hopes isn’t indicative of a break. “Fifty. Fifty-one.” He returns to her face and she rolls back, finally opening her eyes to look at him as he counts the bruise on her cheek – fifty-two – and the cut on her nose. “Fifty-three.”

 

He sits back, inexplicably exhausted, and River smiles. “Fifty-three,” she repeats.

 

“River, I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop that,” she commands. “Fifty-three things that didn’t kill me – that sounds pretty good to me.”

 

“Maybe,” he concedes, “But…”

 

“Stop,” she commands, and he shuts up but he can’t help the guilty expression on his face.

 

River rolls her eyes, but he thinks he detects a hint of fondness in there somewhere. “Oh, Doctor.” She tugs gently on his arm until he’s lying next to her, and she turns and kisses him gently. “Now hold me,” she commands.

 

He’s not sure if this is for her or for him, but he gladly obeys.

 

After a moment, she adds, “And take those stupid pyjamas off.”

 

* * *

 

#13

 

“Happy birthday, dear” the Doctor whispers, tucking a curl behind her ear.

 

River smiles. He wishes she would smile like this all the time – like there is nothing in the world to worry her, like everything is just the way it should be, and like he’s not a fondly tolerated idiot. It’s when she smiles like this that he knows he’s done something really _right_.

 

Which is nice, because actually his plan has gone all wrong. He’s not going to tell her, but this quiet interlude in the honeymoon suite of the top hotel on the planet Lovenest was not actually Plan A.

 

It was supposed to be a far more exciting interlude, but the person who was supposed to make it exciting hasn’t turned up. Which is a bit worrying, because that person is him.

 

He had planned to wait a couple of weeks and then double back on his timeline. Risky, but he thought he’d engineered it all carefully enough to get away with it, and he _knows_ River would have approved.

 

But he’s not here. Well, the second him isn’t here. He hopes it’s just some timey-wimey technicality and not because he’s dead or something.

 

He should have known he shouldn’t have planned this until he had done it once already.

 

“Is everything alright, sweetie?” River asks, raising an unconcerned eyebrow. She’s relaxed enough to be unconcerned, that’s good.

 

“Fine,” he assures her, matching her smile for a moment. “I’m just wondering how I can top this next year.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to go ice skating on the Thames,” River suggests sleepily.

 

“That sounds excellent,” he replies. He doesn’t tell her that he’s done that already; but he thinks that he did do it rather well, actually.

 

It turned out much better than this year, anyway.

 

“Could you just… excuse me, for one second?” he says, already rising from the huge and exceedingly comfortable bed.

 

“Of course…” River looks at him questioningly, but he pretends not to notice. This was supposed to be a _surprise_ , dammit. Maybe he can still pull it off successfully another year, instead?

 

The Doctor grabs a dressing gown and heads for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, stepping into the corridor.

 

He hasn’t actually _seen_ the corridor before – he brought the TARDIS straight to the suite, seeing no reason to do otherwise. But that was before his other self got lost. His plan was – or still is, if at all possible – for his older self to check in downstairs and then make his way up.

 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left older him with the paperwork. He hates paperwork.

 

The _ding_ of lift doors opening sounds from around the corner and the Doctor dithers by the door, still hoping that his future self could just be arriving late.

 

“Oi, you!” his own voice yells out, and his hearts almost skip a beat in relief.

 

He runs around the corner and almost collides with himself, but the older Doctor sidesteps smartly and he manages to avoid anything more undignified than a brief stumble. “There you are! What took you so long?” he demands.

 

“This place is a _maze_ ,” the future Doctor says, almost before he’s finished speaking. “Leave plenty of time, younger me, I had to go back to the front desk three times to ask for directions! Oh, and here’s the key.” He holds it up smugly. “You’ll need that.”

 

“Right,” the Doctor realises – of course, he’s just locked himself out. Good thing he’s here, really. And suddenly he’s inexplicably nervous, and has to lick his lips before saying, “Shall we?”

 

“After you,” his older self intones, gesturing.

 

“Right.” He grabs the key and hurries back to unlock the door to the suite. His older self enters first, grinning, and he follows, closing the door behind them both.

 

He turns to look at River, eager to see the expression on her face.

 

Unfortunately she seems to have dozed off.

 

He pauses, momentarily thrown, and looks to other him for guidance. They both look over at River, and then back at each other – he wonders if his face softens the way his counterpart’s does when he looks at her. It probably does, and he thinks he’s more than okay with that.

 

“Let her sleep,” they decide in unison.

 

They don’t want to tire her out too quickly, after all.

 

* * *

 

#14

 

He hates it when she smiles at him with those big, sad eyes, like she’s carrying an unbearable sorrow in her soul but she can’t share it. And he knows it’s because of him. Because he’s too young, and he doesn’t know her like he should, and she’s got so many memories that he just doesn’t share yet.

 

Some days he thinks the random order of their meetings is romantic and fun, adding an element of excitement and mystery that just wouldn’t be there in a linear relationship.

 

But other times it just hurts.

 

He feels like he’s constantly a few steps behind her; sometimes it’s three steps and sometimes only one, but he’s never yet felt that he and River are really on the same page. He hopes it will happen, one day – but then of course he’ll find that he’s gone too far, and suddenly he’ll be two steps ahead rather than behind, and he’ll be the one lying here staring at her and being nostalgic for these days when she knows him better than he knows himself…

 

“What’s the matter, sweetie?”

 

…the way she can read his face being a case in point.

 

“Nothing, dear” he lies. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“Liar,” River says patiently.

 

The Doctor huffs, exasperated, or possibly delighted, or maybe both. “I’m just thinking about our timey-wimey timestreams, that’s all.”

 

River nods; she understands. Of course she does. “And?” she prods.

 

He makes a face. “I’m not sure that I like it.”

 

To his annoyance – or, again, perhaps delight – she laughs at him. “I’m not sure that matters one way or the other, Doctor.”

 

“Well, I could try to fix it,” he suggests.

 

“Try all you like, it won’t work.” She sounds like someone who knows. Maybe she does.

 

“I know it hurts you sometimes,” he says softly.

 

“Yes.” She shrugs. “Love hurts, sweetie, or have you not heard?”

 

“But is it worth it?”

 

Suddenly she looks stung, and he realises he must have said something wrong. But she stares at him with fire in her eyes and her words come clear and certain: “It is to me.”

 

Of course it is. What a stupid question.

 

“…Oh.” He swallows. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—“

 

“I know, Doctor,” she cuts him off. “And it’s not your fault you don’t feel that way yet. But I hope that you will.”

 

“You mean you don’t know?”

 

River smiles enigmatically and he can’t read her _at all_ , dammit, he has got to learn her face like she’s learned his; “That would be a spoiler, wouldn’t it,” she says, like it’s not important at all.

 

“You enjoy that word far too much,” he complains.

 

“I’ve got to take my fun where I can get it.” She shrugs. “Unless…”

 

The Doctor frowns. “Unless what?”

 

“Well, unless you’re ready for round two.” She says the first part quite innocently, but continues with a grin, “I think you’ll find there are lots of things I _can_ teach you about yourself. Spoiler free, pretty much.” Her grin widens and she lowers her voice, leaning in to speak softly into his ear. “This is one of the fun parts, my love.”

 

She could be right about that, he concedes.

 

* * *

 

#15

 

“…You’re still wearing your skates,” the Doctor points out, eventually.

 

River laughs, lifting one foot up over her head; above the skate a lavish stocking pokes out and stretches out to adorn most of her leg, though it is a bit crumpled now.

 

“So I am,” she declares, her laugh turning into a cackle as she flexes the leg.

 

“Watch out,” the Doctor complains. “You’ll have my eye out!”

 

River raises an eyebrow, reaching out to pull her foot closer and looking at it speculatively. “These would make fantastic weapons.”

 

“Why is everything a weapon to you?” he demands, torn between fondness and exasperation.

 

“Honestly, what kind of question is that?” River tuts and sits up.

 

“The kind whose answer is probably a lot more complicated than it first appears.” He’s _sure_ it’s not just her long and complicated past; he has a feeling she’d be just as obsessed as plain old Melody Williams. The Doctor sits, too, and—

 

Since when has the floor of their bedroom been made of ice?

 

River’s seen it too, and her face is flushed with delight – not that it wasn’t flushed with delight before, he flatters himself, but this is delight of a different kind. She swings her feet over the side of the bed – he’s glad he’s not in the way, they’ve got _blades_ on them – and sets them carefully on the smooth surface, much smoother than the frozen Thames and probably smoother than any other ice rink in existence; the TARDIS is a bit of a perfectionist with these things.

 

River stands and launches immediately into a pirouette, spinning faster than the Doctor is entirely comfortable with, and comes out of it with a spinning jump so that she lands with one leg sweeping out to disable imaginary enemies in a wide circle.

 

How can something so deadly be so very attractive?

 

She stands and winks at him, clearly immensely pleased with herself. Hardly pausing for breath, she takes herself through a series of punches and kicks, kicking up small storms of finely shaved ice whenever she moves her feet.

 

When she pauses in her routine she turns and glides backwards to survey the damage she’s done to the hard surface. The pattern she’s left is quite complex and almost symmetrical, and she skates back over to add to it like a painting, curving and jumping until she’s satisfied.

 

It’s glorious, and he is transfixed.

 

“You like this, don’t you,” River declares. He hadn’t realised she was looking at him.

 

The Doctor swallows. “How can you tell?”

 

She glances down, and then up again with a smirk. “How do you think?”

 

He scowls – he hates it when his own body betrays him like this. “Yes, yes, alright.”

 

“Well?” she demands, and the way she chuckles at him does stupid things to his insides. “So what are you going to do about it, sweetie?”

 

He tries to look stern, he really does, as he reaches for his own skates and pulls them back on, but he knows he can’t quite manage it. This is too much _fun_.

 

He stands, wobbles, and skates towards her much too fast, so that when he catches her hands he pulls her around in a circle and she shrieks until he lifts one hand over her head and she sails into a pirouette under his arm and her shrieks turn to laughter.

 

River pulls herself closer after a moment and puts her hands on his bare chest, grinning up at him with mischief in her eyes as he anchors his hands on her hips and their turning slows to a standstill.

 

Then her grin turns scheming and she pushes him away hard enough that it gives her a few precious seconds to fashion a tiny snowball from the powdered ice by her feet, and she throws it at him triumphantly, skating past him and yanking the door open.

 

The Doctor gives chase and realises three things:

 

One, that the corridor outside is lined with ice as well.

 

Two, that ice skating naked is brilliant, if a bit chilly, and he should have thought of it long before this.

 

And three, that his wife ice skating naked is probably the most brilliant thing of all.

 

He grins and begins his pursuit.

 

* * *

 

#16

 

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor says.

 

River turns to look at him, her nose wrinkling adorably as she shuffles closer to him on her narrow, squeaky bed. “Whatever for, sweetie?”

 

“Well, you know…” He waves a hand vaguely in the air, suddenly awkward. “For whatever my younger self… you know…”

 

“Doctor,” River says patiently, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“…Oh.” He frowns. “Did we not… I mean…?”

 

“That was a pretty good apology,” she tells him, shrugging. “So whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll forgive you.” She grins and pokes him in the ribs. “But I don’t think you’ve done it yet.”

 

“What?” the Doctor exclaims, cursing himself. How could he go and get _this_ wrong? “But I was going to come _after_ younger me!” he wails.

 

River snickers.

 

“That is _not_ what I meant,” he says sternly. Though, come to think of it…

 

“If you say so, sweetie.” She winks at him.

 

“River! Honestly, you’re terrible! No wonder young me was terrified of you, you’re going to eat him alive!”

 

Delight dances across River’s face and her eyes widen eagerly. “Oh, is _that_ what this is about?” she gasps, running flexed fingers over his chest as though she’s already picturing his younger self there in his place.

 

“Be nice,” the Doctor warns her. “I mean I don’t remember very much about it, it was all a bit too much. But there was definitely quite a lot of terror.”

 

“I’ll be gentle,” River reassures him, though he’s not completely sure that she means it. “Oh, what fun…” She flashes him a grin that’s downright wicked. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

 

“River!” he cries incredulously. “That’s practically obscene!”

 

“It is _not_ , you big oaf. I had to know it was coming sooner or later, didn’t I? A little healthy anticipation never hurt anyone.”

 

“I never felt that way when it was your first time,” he points out.

 

“God, I know, you were terrified then, too,” River tuts. “Honestly, I’d have preferred you to be a little bit more confident, it’s not like _you_ hadn’t done it before…”

 

He’s a bit offended by that, he has to admit. “Well, I could always go back and—“

 

“Though I suppose the second time more than made up for it,” she continues, grinning at what is obviously a fond memory. Probably he does go back to fix it – something to look forward to then, that.

 

“I’m glad you weren’t completely disappointed, dear,” he says, feathers still a bit ruffled.

 

“Oh, _hush_ ,” she laughs, swatting at his chest, “I’m just teasing.” She freezes, caught by a thought. “When’s he going to be here? I need to do my hair!” With which she jumps out of bed and halfway across the room to inspect herself in the mirror.

 

“What? What’s wrong with your hair?” he demands, frowning, suddenly missing her warm body next to his.

 

“Everything!” she declares, producing an impossible array of brushes and combs and hair products from a tiny cabinet under the mirror.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with your hair, come back to be—“

 

He’s interrupted by the sound of the TARDIS materialising on the other side of the bars.

 

Not his TARDIS. His TARDIS is parked around the corner because he wanted to approach River carefully, not knowing what to expect after her encounter with his younger self…

 

“Sweetie,” River hisses, hurrying back over to the bed now that they can no longer do all the things he wants to do in it. “You have to hide.”

 

“Hide where?” he demands, clutching the blanket to himself as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.

 

River narrows her eyes and promptly pulls the blanket from his grasp. “The wardrobe,” she says decisively, throwing the blanket back on the bed and bending to pick his clothes off the floor. “Right now, sweetie.”

 

Stark naked, the Doctor sprints to the wardrobe on the other side of the room and pulls it open. River unceremoniously shoves clothes and shoes in after him, smirks, and closes the door.

 

He retreats to the darkest corner and covers his ears with his hands.

 

If he recalls correctly, he might be stuck here for quite a while…

 

* * *

 

#17

 

“Woah,” the younger Doctor says.

 

The older Doctor cringes. The wardrobe door and his hands clasped firmly over his ears haven’t been enough to block out the _noises_.

 

The noises which he rather strangely and very embarrassingly has found to be quite a turn-on. And now he’s got a very obvious erection and he’s torn between wanting his younger self to leave as soon as possible so that he and River can work it off, as it were, and wanting him to stay long enough for it to go away on its own so that she never, ever knows about it.

 

Because she would think it was hilarious, he just knows it, and she would tease him mercilessly and make it so, so much worse.

 

He can hear her laughing, now, not unkindly but in that sort of way that she used to have, as if he were a cute little puppy who couldn’t quite figure out what to do with his feet. He hasn’t heard that laugh for a long time, and suddenly his heart aches.

 

Sometimes he misses the River who knows everything and whose default reaction to anything he does is _oh, bless_ , with that fond smile that goes with it. Sometimes he misses having everything still to come; instead his diary is half full, and he finds himself trying to leave longer and longer between meetings so that, just perhaps, the second half won’t fill up as quickly as the first.

 

“Sweetie,” he hears her saying on the other side of the thin sheet of metal which makes up her wardrobe door, “You’re adorable. But you can leave now.”

 

Dammit, she’s trying to get rid of him. He looks downwards in the darkness – even in this gloom he can still see a very definite _erectness_.

 

Why is she being so abrupt with his younger self, anyway? From what he could hear she was making all the right sounds, it can’t have been that bad – but he does remember leaving with the very distinct feeling that he needed to improve. He doesn’t even think he got dressed before—

 

The sound of the TARDIS dematerialising echoes through the darkness.

 

Almost immediately that darkness is replaced by the harsh fluorescent light of River’s prison cell as she rips the door open, with her hair even more dishevelled, her cheeks flushed, and a distinctly hungry look in her eyes.

 

“Tell me that was as hot for you as it was for me,” she says breathlessly.

 

Slightly against his better judgement, the Doctor scrambles to his feet and gestures helplessly downwards.

 

The grin that spreads across River’s face is worth any teasing she might do later, he decides instantly. She grabs him none too gently and pushes him back towards the bed, and he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to keep up with her.

 

“You shooed young me out of here a bit quickly,” he can’t help but point out, as she climbs on top of him. “He’s going to think he did something wrong.”

 

“Oh, everything right, sweetie,” River assures him, bending to kiss him hungrily, all tongue and teeth.

 

“You’ve got quite some stamina, you know,” he remarks when she comes up for air; he’s rather impressed.

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

“Make me.”

 

Her grin widens. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

#18

 

“Not bad for an old man.” River’s face is flushed and the fairy lights by the bed are reflected back in the twinkle in her eyes. “Must be the face. You can never really grow old with a face like that.”

 

The Doctor chuckles, trying to hide the wheeze that tends to go with it these days. “I am extremely old,” he tells her. “I haven’t felt this old for centuries.” He pauses. “Though right this moment I’m feeling quite young again.”

 

River grins. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad I didn’t give you a heart attack.” She looks around the room – at the children’s drawings, the dim light, the crack in the wall; and maybe farther as well, he can’t quite tell. “So,” she says, a little more seriously. A little more vulnerably. “Truth field.”

 

“Yes,” he confirms.

 

“I could make you tell me anything I want.”

 

“Yes,” he says again. “So please be sensible, River; any spoiler you make me tell you could—“

 

“—change the fate of the universe, yes, yes, I know. When am I ever _not_ sensible?” she demands.

 

“Often,” he has to reply.

 

“Yes,” she has to admit, “I suppose you’re right. Not that you’re any better.” She studies him, looking into his soul, and all the pain in that look pours right in with it. “You’re going to die here, aren’t you?” It’s barely a question.

 

“I should think so, yes.”

 

“Will I know when it’s the last time _I_ ever see you? When we run out of meetings?”

 

The Doctor swallows,. “Yes,” he tells her. “You’ll figure it out. Please, don’t make me tell you any more.”

 

River scrutinises him, and he can tell she’s thinking about that request and about how sensible she really wants to be, now when it’s her last chance, at least from his point of view.

 

“Do you love me?” she says at last.

 

“What?” He stares, confused by the question. “Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”

 

“You’ve never told me before.”

 

“River, I—” The truth field kicks in even as he kicks himself. “I haven’t, have I?” he admits.

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“Yes,” he agrees.

 

“I love you, just for the record.”

 

“Yes,” the Doctor says. “I know.” And the truth field drags more from him – usually he’s able to keep himself from over-sharing, now, but clearly River is doing something to his concentration. “I wished that I had told you. When I thought I would never see you again.”

 

“When was that?”

 

He finds himself smiling despite the pain of the memory. “When you were very young, my dear.”

 

River takes a moment before she answers, with a faraway look in her eyes, “I remember.”

 

“Really?” he says. Stupid question – truth field. Of course _really_.

 

“I laughed at you,” she recalls.

 

“You did.” He nods. “Quite right too.”

 

Slowly, she shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

 

“Ah.” Raising a slightly jittery finger, he bops her on the nose. “You were younger and wiser then, River Song.”

 

“And my diary was almost empty instead of almost full. It’s easy to spout wisdom when you’ve got your whole marriage ahead of you, sweetie.”

 

“Ha, you want to see mine.” He swallows. “One page left. When I thought I’d lost you I used to think you were being over-optimistic, but I’ve come to realise that you must have known exactly how long it needed to be.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, you gave it to me.” He shrugs. “Stands to reason you’d put some thought into it.”

 

“Doctor…” River narrows her eyes. “I didn’t give you that diary.”

 

“Oh.”

 

After a moment, he grins.

 

“Well then. Spoilers.”

 

* * *

 

#19

 

“River.”

 

She keeps on staring into space, so he pokes her bare shoulder and tries again.

 

“River?”

 

“Yes, what, sweetie?” she says, sounding a lot less irritated than he was expecting.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean you’re not behaving the way you normally do, it doesn’t seem to be deliberate, so clearly something is bothering you.”

 

River sighs, pressing her lips together, and she rolls over to throw an arm and a leg across him but says nothing.

 

“…Spoilers?” he hazards.

 

He can only see half her face now, but the one eye that is looking at him across the pillow is surprisingly expressive. It narrows, brow arched over it as she thinks about whatever she’s going to say to him; and it glistens with an unshed tear.

 

“I hate this,” she says eventually. “You would think I’d be used to it by now, but it’s just getting harder.”

 

“What do you mean?” the Doctor says gently, reaching out to pull her closer.

 

“How back-to-front we are,” she mutters into his chest. All he can see now is her hair, so he closes his eyes and listens. “I honestly thought you were never going to kiss me again, you bastard,” she continues.

 

“What did I do?” he demands, slightly incredulously.

 

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “It was so long ago for you, you probably don’t remember.”

 

“…You mean…?” The Doctor sighs. “River. How could I possibly forget our first kiss?”

 

“ _Your_ first kiss,” she corrects gently. “Mine wasn’t nearly so nice.”

 

“I don’t know, I thought it was quite exciting. Even though you did use it to kill me.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But the second one you used to bring me back.”

 

“I know. So it still doesn’t really count.”

 

“The third one, then,” he prompts. “Does that one count?”

 

She looks up at him, a smile spreading over her face, and he finds himself mirroring it. “Oh,” she breathes. “That was something.”

 

The Doctor can’t help feeling a little bit smug at that.

 

“We had dinner,” she says. “On top of Mount Sellicus on Cygnus III, overlooking the ruins. You’d extended the air field over the top of the mountain and set up a table and chairs, and you brought food straight from the kitchen of the top restaurant on the planet. It was breathtaking… and we’re probably the only people who have ever kissed up there, or ever will.” She pauses. “Of course you’d landed us there about forty-five minutes before the Sontarans fired the opening shots of the nine-year war, but that was quite exciting too.”

 

The Doctor grins. “Sounds good to me.”

 

“You haven’t done that yet.” It’s not a question.

 

“Nope,” he admits.

 

Her voice turns stern. “Don’t you dare mess that up for me, I mean it.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises. “Cross my hearts.”

 

River tilts her head, and he can tell before she speaks that it’s still bothering her. “Do you know when my last kiss will really be, Doctor?”

 

He swallows, and he makes himself meet her eyes. “Yes,” he says truthfully. “Yes, I think I do.”

 

“And will it be a good one?”

 

The Doctor forces a smile. “River Song, it will knock Mount Sellicus out of the park, I promise you.”

 

She nods slowly, and steals another kiss from him just because, right now, she can.

 

“Well,” she says. “That’s something.”

 

* * *

 

#20

 

“I’m glad you finally came,” River whispers, glancing up at the wall that separates them from Amy and Rory’s bedroom.

 

“I finally…?” The Doctor frowns, recalling the last thirty minutes and trying to figure out where there could possibly be a _finally_ in there. “I don’t think I was particularly—“

“Sweetie,” River interrupts, putting a hand on his arm, “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“Oh.” The Doctor blinks, astonished. “First time for everything.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Make me.”

 

“Maybe later,” she says dismissively. “What I _meant_ was, I’m glad you’ve finally realised that you should perhaps tell my parents that you weren’t dead.”

 

“Oh,” the Doctor says again, cringing. “Yes. Probably should have done that sooner, shouldn’t I.”

 

“Yes,” River agrees pointedly.

 

“But you already told them anyway, so—“

 

“Oh, that’s my job as well, is it?” She sounds unimpressed. He’s afraid this conversation is going a bit downhill.

 

“…You haven’t done it yet,” he surmises.

 

“No, but I suppose I have to now, don’t I?” she says in her exasperated voice.

 

The Doctor doesn’t like her exasperated voice. It can mean too many different things. Sometimes it’s affectionate, but this time… he makes an educated guess. “You’re angry with me.”

 

“Whatever gave you that impression?” she says mockingly, and continues before he can reply, “Of course I’m angry with you! You’ve been an idiot, and as usual I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces! They haven’t seen you for _two years_. And apparently last year I turned up for Christmas and _somehow_ made up for the fact that you weren’t there, so now I’ve got to figure out how exactly I did that and then go and do it… honestly, sweetie, do you ever think through the consequences of your actions for other people?”

 

Yes. She’s definitely angry with him.

 

“Sometimes,” he mutters sulkily.

 

“That’s not good enough!”

 

“Quiet!” Amy’s voice suddenly shouts from the next room.

 

The Doctor grimaces. “Now she’s angry with me too.”

 

“Oh, hush,” River says, rolling her eyes. “I think she actually quite enjoys it.”

 

“What, banging on the wall?”

 

“Now that, I wouldn’t know.”

 

“River! You know that’s not what I meant.” He pauses, debating his chances, and looks up at her perhaps a little more timidly than he intends. “I know that you do, though…?”

 

River crosses her arms. “Are you trying to distract me from the fact that I’m angry with you?”

 

The Doctor winces – honestly, this could go either way. “…Yes?”

 

River says nothing.

 

“I’m sorry,” he tries.

 

River examines her fingernails in the darkness.

 

“I’m an idiot, I know, and I’m sorry that you’re always the one who has to fix my mistakes.”

 

She looks at him stoically.

 

“How about breakfast in Vienna tomorrow?”

 

River sighs. “You can stop,” she says, and arches an eyebrow. “How are we supposed to have angry sex if I’m not angry with you any more?”

 

“Um,” he swallows. “I’ve got a couple more things I could tell you that should have you angry again in no time?”

 

“Oh, excellent.” She straddles him. “Start talking.”

 

* * *

 

#21

 

“So,” the Doctor says, looking around the extremely lavish hotel room River is calling home today. “This is nice.”

 

He hasn’t really seen much of it, despite being here since last night. River hasn’t often jumped him as soon as he opens the TARDIS doors, but he’s not about to complain when she does.

 

“It is nice,” River agrees, not opening her eyes.

 

“You don’t sound very impressed,” he points out. She’s not acting very impressed by anything, this morning. Normally she’s ravenous as soon as the sun comes up – assuming they’re anywhere near a sun – but today she’s just lying there, eyes shut despite the fact that she’s been awake for over an hour, and looking vaguely unimpressed with the whole universe.

 

“Breakfast?” the Doctor ventures. “I could order room service. Or I could quickly nip to Paris for some croissants…”

 

River smiles softly, but her eyes remain resolutely closed. “Maybe later, sweetie.”

 

“River…” He shuffles closer, raising a hand to touch her but then thinking better of it. “Is something wrong?”

 

At last she opens her eyes, and her smile turns wistful. “You’re really very young, aren’t you?”

 

The Doctor licks his lips and tries not to look offended. Is he ever going to be old enough for her? “That’s a yes, I take it?”

 

“Yes.” River sighs. “I suppose it is.”

 

“Tell me,” he prompts.

 

She looks at him long and hard before she responds. “We didn’t do diaries last night,” she says.

 

“No, we didn’t.” The Doctor rolls over, looking for his jacket in the pile of clothes scattered across the floor. “Hold on, I’ll find—“

 

“It doesn’t matter.” He feels her hand on his arm, and he turns back to face her. “You’re old enough,” she sighs before meeting his eyes again. “I got out of prison yesterday.”

 

“You did?” His eyes widen. “But that’s great, River, congratulations!”

 

“Thank you, sweetie,” she says, but the look on her face isn’t exactly celebratory.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

 

Again, it takes her a while to answer.

 

“Do you know how long I was in Stormcage?”

 

“…No,” he admits.

 

“It was a long time, Doctor. Most of my life, and I’ve lived longer than most. And now suddenly I’m free, and… I have no idea what to do with myself. I don’t even know where to go. I never really expected this to happen, I never let myself hope – I never even let myself think about how things might be if it did.”

 

“Ah.” He nods. “Okay. This may be a bit obvious, but have you thought of Earth?”

 

River narrows her eyes. “What would I want to go back there for? I love my parents, but I don’t think I could stomach spending the rest of my life in twenty-first-century England, sweetie.”

 

“I never said anything about the twenty-first century.”

 

She pauses again as she contemplates this. “As a matter of fact,” she says slowly, “I did see an advert for a post-doc position at Oxford University the other day. Definitely _not_ twenty-first century.”

 

“Well then.” He spreads his arms. “Perhaps you should apply.”

 

“Alright.” She smiles. “No more spoilers. But thank you.” Settling back into the pillows, the Doctor is relieved to see the twinkle back in her eyes as she starts to think through the possibilities. “I’ll have to find a house,” she realises. “Oh, how exciting… I’m finally going to have a fourth wall that isn’t made of bars.”

 

“We made good use of those bars, the last time I saw you,” the Doctor points out, and River chuckles and pokes him in the chest.

 

And he doesn’t tell her about the detached house on the outskirts of fifty-first century Oxford, with its antique rugs and its shelves of priceless relics and the vegetable garden that is in turn carefully tended to and sorely neglected, and he cherishes the moment.

 

It’s the first time he’s had to withhold a _nice_ spoiler.

 

* * *

 

#22

 

“Wow,” the Doctor says, lying back in the fluffy pillows on River’s bed. “That was different.”

 

River snorts, hooking a leg over his possessively and burying her head in one of said fluffy pillows. “Different from a narrow, lumpy mattress on a squeaky frame, you mean? I should hope so.” She raises her head just enough to look at him with one eye. “Do you remember when we broke the bed?”

 

He shakes his head. “Haven’t done that one yet.”

 

“Well it’ll be a barrel of laughs, let me tell you,” she says, and he’s not completely sure how serious she is but he doesn’t really care. He’s never seen her so relaxed; it’s almost disconcerting.

 

The fact that this is her own bed in her own bedroom in her own house may have something to do with it. Up to now he had thought her cell was quite customised, that she’d left her mark on it very successfully – you’d never mistake that cell for anybody else’s.

 

But this _house_ – everything about it screams _River_. He wonders how long it took her to put it all together; and did she plan it all out meticulously or has everything accumulated in a more haphazard manner? Where did she get all of her trinkets? Are they things she had stashed away somewhere in Stormcage, or are they souvenirs from more recent adventures?

 

“You haven’t been here before, have you?” River says, grinning.

 

“No,” he admits. “It’s very nice.”

 

“You don’t know the half of it, sweetie.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asks, intrigued.

 

River smirks. “Spoilers.”

 

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair.” He makes a face at her. “You can’t get me all interested and then shut me down like that.”

 

“I can do whatever I like, it’s my house.” He hears the pride in her voice when she says _my house_ , and he realises that it’s probably the first house she’s ever owned. No wonder she’s so smug about it.

 

Still. “Give me something,” he says. “Go on.”

 

River rolls her eyes, but it’s more affectionate than anything else. “This house used to belong to Charles Chung, the historian,” she tells him.

 

“The forty-fifth century historian?” the Doctor asks. He does a quick run-through in his head of what he’s seen of the house. “Did he build it?”

 

“He did indeed,” River says, nodding her approval. “Rumour has it that there are secret cellars deep underground, hiding all kinds of historical contraband. The only catch is that they’re guarded by Chung’s ghost.”

 

Of course River would buy a haunted house. Of _course_ she would. She probably got it cheap, too – after all, who else would have wanted it?

 

“And is it?” the Doctor asks eagerly.

 

River shrugs noncommittally. “You’ll see.”

 

“Sounds fun.”

 

“Oh, it was…” She shakes her head. “Pity it’s about a hundred and thirty years in the future for you.”

 

“A hundred and…?” The Doctor frowns. “You didn’t have to whet my appetite so much for something so far away,” he complains.

 

“You asked,” she points out.

 

“Yes, but…” he trails off helplessly. She’s right. Of course she’s right.

 

And a familiar glint is back in her eyes.

 

“How about I whet your appetite for something a lot more imminent?” she says, leaning in to leave a trail of leisurely kisses along his collarbone.

 

The Doctor swallows. “Yes,” he says; perhaps a bit too quickly, but who cares?

 

“Good.” River flashes him a grin. “I’ll make sure the ghost isn’t watching.”

 

* * *

 

#23

 

She’s shaking.

 

That’s the first thing the Doctor really notices when he wakes up – the tremors which, in his dream, had been the aftershocks of an earthquake he was running from, are actually coming from River’s back trembling against his.

 

This is… worrying.

 

He rolls over, resting a hand on her arm. “River.”

 

There’s a pause before she answers him. “Go back to sleep, sweetie.”

 

“I can’t go back to sleep, I’m awake now. River, is something wrong?”

 

“No. I’m fine.” She doesn’t turn to face him, and her voice is unusually thick.

 

“…You don’t sound fine,” he ventures.

 

“I’m fine,” she repeats. “Go and save the world or something, if you’re staying up.”

 

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

 

“I’ll be there in a moment,” she promises, but she doesn’t move.

 

The Doctor hesitates.

 

On the one hand, River’s pretty much just told him that she wants him to go away. Perhaps she just needs a moment on her own, and she’ll follow him out in a minute and then they can go and find some lava monsters on Kalkis IV together. He’s been meaning to do that with her for quite a while, he thinks it would be brilliant.

 

On the other hand…

 

He stands, walking slowly around to the other side of the bed. River presumably thinks he’s getting some clothes or something, because she doesn’t look at him until he’s been standing in front of her for about seventeen seconds. She’s normally more aware of her surroundings, but as soon as she meets his eyes he can tell that this isn’t a normal situation.

 

“You’re crying,” he says, trying not to look as horrified as he feels.

 

“I’m fine,” River repeats again.

 

The Doctor sinks to his knees, bringing his face level with hers and reaching for her hand. “Stop that,” he says gently, and with what he thinks is a rather admirable lack of panic.

 

River looks like she’s about to say something, but she stops herself with a sigh.

 

“What’s the matter?” he asks – but he knows, really. Of course he knows.

 

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to.

 

“Sorry, stupid question,” he mutters. He clears his throat, casting about for something to say, and his eyes fall on the mess of pen and paper on her bedside table. “How’s the book?”

 

To his dismay, this causes a fresh wave of silent tears to seep from River’s eyes. He’s about to apologise for being an idiot when she finally speaks.

 

“Rubbish, actually,” she says. She’s probably trying to make light of the situation, but she doesn’t really manage it.

 

“How so?” he asks, reaching for the closest sheet and perusing it.

 

There are five different innuendos in the first hundred words alone. He’s quite impressed.

 

She watches him as he reads, and doesn’t answer the question.

 

“It’s very light-hearted,” he remarks. “It’s good.”

 

“That’s the problem, sweetie,” River sighs.

 

“What?” He tries to understand, but all he gets is confused.

 

“I have to make this… this _fun romp_ , out of the circumstances that took my parents away. I hate it, it’s like torture.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

“And you haven’t exactly been helpful, Doctor. Honestly, you take moping to a whole new level.”

 

“Sorry,” he manages.

 

She shakes her head wearily. “I know you’ve been hurting. It’s fine.”

 

“Yes, but you’ve been hurting too, and you haven’t… River.” He shakes his head as well, mirroring her gesture. “You don’t need to hide your tears from me.”

 

River smiles sadly. “Don’t I?”

 

“No,” he insists.

 

She doesn’t reply. He doesn’t like the fact that she’s not replying.

 

The Doctor pulls the rest of the manuscript off the table. “Can I help with this?” he suggests.

 

Her smile turns a little less sad, and she nods.

 

It’s a start.

 

* * *

 

#24

 

“So,” the Doctor says, echoing his question from before. “What do you think of the new body now, eh?”

 

River laughs, resting a hand on his bare chest. “It’s very nice, sweetie. Twelve out of ten. Would recommend.”

 

“Is that what you told Cleopatra about me?”

 

“Oh, stop it.” She rolls her eyes, smiling softly. “So, Doctor. Day one of our twenty-four years. What do we do next?”

 

“I don’t know – take a bath? Go ice skating? Eat fondue? I don’t know, do they have fondue on Darillium? Or ice?”

 

“I haven’t the faintest idea, sweetie,” River replies patiently.

 

“Of course I suppose the question is really what we do with twenty-four years as a whole. I mean, if we go away and come back again it will still be the same night. No reason we have to be linear – so boring.”

 

“Well, quite. But that doesn’t really answer my question, does it,” she points out.

 

The truth is, he doesn’t know how to answer that question.

 

He’s spent more time thinking about this night than probably is healthy. He’s studied this planet and its extraordinary singing towers in minute detail, looking for anything that might help him to somehow change this from an inevitable and bittersweet occasion to an opportunity to be grabbed and run with until he can’t run any more.

 

So far the best thing he’s been able to find are those twenty-four years.

 

It’s a lot compared to one Earth night, but compared to infinity it’s nothing at all.

 

So. How to stretch it?

 

“Let’s go somewhere else and come back later,” he says. “A short interlude of aliens and running, perhaps – or maybe something more sedate? It’s Christmas, we could do a tour of the markets in twentieth century Europe, or ride giant reindeer on Clausus II… or we could go back to the ice volcanoes on Setarisk, I know you liked those.”

 

“Let’s not get nostalgic, shall we?” River says briskly. “If these memories are going to be our last I want them to be something new.” She grins at him. “New and spectacular.”

 

The Doctor scoffs. “No pressure, then?”

 

“None whatsoever, sweetie.” She bats her eyelids beatifically.

 

“We have to come back here, though,” he reminds her.

 

River sobers immediately, and he wishes he hadn’t said anything. “I know,” she says. Of course she knows.

 

“I’m sorry, River. It’s just a stopgap. One day, we are going to run out of time and there will be nothing either of us can do about it.”

 

“Oh, look at you, all doom and gloom.” She rolls her eyes. “A few hours ago I was convinced an Earth night was all we had. Now we’ve got twenty-four years to play with. Whatever you say, I am not entirely convinced that that’s it, sweetie.”

 

He doesn’t tell her that he is. He doesn’t tell her how many painful failed attempts to save her have led to this conclusion, or how long ago that all was for him and how, somehow, those centuries in between have only hardened this bitter conviction. He doesn’t tell her that he’s given up hope, or that she should too.

 

He doesn’t know if that’s the right thing to do or if he’s just a coward.

 

“Have you been to Ezmaron Five?” River says suddenly. “I went there on a dig once; I’d love to go a few hundred years earlier. They had these huge monuments built to _food_ , and every single recipe recovered from their ruins has been celebrated by chefs across the galaxy. They must have had amazing restaurants, I’ve always wanted to go and find out.”

 

She’s blatantly ignoring the sheer inevitability of it all, just like she always does.

 

He loves that about her.

 

“Ezmaron Five, you say?” He leaps from the bed, grabbing his clothes as he goes, and heads for the console room. “I think you might need to get dressed up again, dear.”


End file.
